


Collateral

by kidskylark



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Fake relationships (and not the fun kind), False Pretenses, Gen, POV Second Person, Present Tense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-05-15 22:02:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19304698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kidskylark/pseuds/kidskylark
Summary: You've never been wrong once in your life, and you're not going to let this be the first time. You could have a matesprit if you tried. You'll prove it.Ghurab can't take a hit to her pride, pulls a sweet and innocent lady into the fray to prove a point, and starts a relationship with the sole purpose of proving a point.





	Collateral

**Author's Note:**

> Ghurab Coelii is not good. She is not kind. She would sell out another troll for a corn chip. This is basically all the context you need.
> 
> Rinceau is an Alternian colony planet based on stained glass. A lot of the names are butchered French and/or crafting words. I just think they're neat.jpg.

The Locksmith isn't easily found. She likes to stay on the fringes, you find, and keep out of trouble - trouble for which she is sometimes the catalyst. But that's business, you suppose.

  
  
The largest bridge on Rinceau crosses the neck of Aneelin bay, between one land mass and another. On its wires and grates, the Rinceaux people have attached locks of all colors and makes: A symbol of love eternal, or hate, or whatever the quadrant may be. But the thing about love is that it changes. It's never reliable. It morphs, as so many things do, and as lives pull lovers apart, they have second thoughts.

  
  
The Locksmith's business is taking that regret, fixing it, and taking out the trash. She severs bonds, for a price, then disappears as the carnage unfolds. She's only a conduit. What happens before, and after, is up to the lovers themselves. You don't know her address, her name, or her sign. You only know her silhouette on the Aneelin bridge.

 

"Busy day?" You lean on the railing, and try to make it look casual, rather than exhausted. You ran to meet her, and that's always overtaxing. "You look sharp today!"

  
  
She's holding bolt cutters. It's a joke. You wink, to make it obvious, and then you see her smile.

 

"Grozing Coelii," she says, because she's teal. She can say that.

 

"The very same!" You dip your head. You don't call her "grisaille," but she knows better than to expect that from you. "At your service. Or, well... Maybe you're at my service? I need a favor."

 

"I don't do favors, grozing."

 

"Then call it a job!"

 

She motions for you to continue, so you explain.

 

You tell her about the challenge you were issued. Someone said you couldn't get a matesprit. Their mistake. You want to prove them wrong. She's unsurprised. You would be offended, but you're on a mission. You explain only that you need to complete it, but you don't confess the stakes - to admit you're saving your image would be a mark on that same image, and what would she think then? You would prove you, untouchable,  _ could _ be touched in some way. That just won't do.

 

And she offers you options.

 

Her bag is opaque to outside view, until she opens it. She fishes out a few locks. They're engraved with signs, sometimes whole names, sometimes dates and even times. Many are hand-carved, by the lovers themselves, but a few have a more professional flair.

 

"This one," the Locksmith says, picking out one colored in green-gold. There are etchings on its surface that are supposed to be leaves. "They were long-distance. She's Rinceaux."

 

The Locksmith points to the name that reads _Justis Cemete._

 

"Olive. She called me. That means she's ready to move on."

 

You hold the lock in your grubby little goblin hands. The cold metal sucks away what little warmth you have. "Where can I find her?"

 

She points, back the way you came. "Look for the tree nursery. Ask for her there. And Ghurab..."

 

She makes you pause, just as you're about to run. She touches the lock in your hands, looking straight into your eyes with hers, cold and too blue, you think.

 

"Return this loan with interest."

 

* * *

 

A tree nursery is a little bit redundant on Rinceau. The whole damn planet is filled with trees. A "tree nursery" could be any old place on the ground that has young trees. Why dedicate a structure to it? Why bother?

 

But it's important enough, somehow, that Justis works here, and so do a handful of other trolls. The building is stamped with the mark of the Mullion, quite literally, so you have some idea of the troll you'll be meeting, even before you meet her. To believe in the Mullion requires faith: belief in something not seen, and hardly heard. Most Rinceaux have sworn off it, you included. To keep that flame alive requires someone very,  _ very _ stubborn, and just a little bit daft.

 

Grozing Cemete has a picture hanging on the wall, declaring her "employee of the season." Her hair is tied up in a messy bun. Her glasses are rectangle frames, low on her nose. She's cute, all things considered, and the lab coat adds... a certain  _ je ne sais quoi. _

 

"I don't recognize you," she confesses, when you meet her in the entry hall. "Are you a transplant from the Frit lab?"

 

"Just a visitor," you correct, beaming. You hold out your hand, and she fumbles with her paperwork to shake it. "I'm Ghurab! I've seen the nursery a few times in the area, but I never stopped by to see it. It's just so  _ cute! _ "

 

She beams at that. Point to Coelii! "It is, isn't it?" She lets go of your hand, and turns out, looking up at the green-colored glass of the nursery. The frames and details here are plain, as Rinceau work goes, but you suppose the trees don't care about that. "I love this place. I'm so lucky to work here!"

 

"Is it better than the other places you've worked?"

 

"Most, yes! I had this dreadful job on Alternia..."

 

"Most Alternian jobs are!" you reply, and it makes her laugh.

 

By the time you leave, you have her number in your pocket, right next to the lock.

 

* * *

 

Your first date is in a public place.

 

You've been on dates before. They're like this, yes, but only on the surface. Dates with your arranged quadrants are more straightforward. You both go in with a common goal, and anything before that is prologue. Whether you're meeting them for the first time, or the tenth time, it doesn't matter, in the end. None of them mind when you cut to the chase.

 

This date is much different.  _ You _ have a goal, but Justis doesn't. In order to achieve your goal, you have to act like her: directionless.

 

It's an outdoor movie. Her suggestion. You brought the picnic quilt, and she brought food, carried in the most cliche picnic basket you could possibly imagine.

 

"You didn't have trouble getting here, did you?" she asks, settling down on the blanket. She ditched the coat, you note with a little regret. "You never said where you're from!"

 

"Oh, I'm over in a cullet by Rondel," you say, waving off the question.

 

"Rondel? But it's -"

 

"Infested -"

 

"Seeded!"

 

To your credit, you don't roll your eyes. "Is that the term for it? Yeah, it was seeded. What, do you track that stuff?"

 

"It's part of the job." If you didn't know better, you would say she looks concerned. For you, or for the plants? For once, you hope it's the plants. You don't accept sympathy. "Since the attack patterns are random, we try to keep track of the areas that get seeded, and keep a current map of the districts. Rondel is in our district!" She hesitates - "Or, well, it was?"

 

"It is," you say, but only as a means of correcting her. "Just because a place gets  _ seeded _ doesn't mean it stops  _ existing! _ "

 

She laughs. "I  _ suppose. _ So how many trolls live there now? We don't do many surveys on the seeded areas, after the trees start to grow. Trolls tend to move out quickly!"

 

"Oh, a few," you lie. "I don't see them though. We're  _ distant _ neighbors, which is fine by me."

 

"And your hive wasn't destroyed?"

 

"It was, but you know-" you shrug, putting on that charming, fanged smile- "adapt and overcome?"

 

It works, you think, because she seems more at ease. She smiles right back. "Isn't that sweet?" she coos, and she starts to get comfortable. "I live here in Lehr. I walked here, and I walk to work, in the lab. You remember, right?"

 

"It seems like a nice place," you say, leaning back on your arms. When you look up, where the leaves part to show a patch of open Rinceau sky, you think you believe it. "How long have you been here?"

 

"It's been a sweep! I got picked up by the lab when I was living further away, and I moved to Lehr to be closer. I like it here! And the bay is gorgeous, when the moon is full and shining on the water." She's a romantic. That makes your job easier. When people want something, they tend to see it, even if it isn't there.

 

She looks over at you, judging your reaction, and you play up your excitement. "Sure! I've seen it a few times, but what's a few more?"


End file.
